


Beat Bloody

by BloodyRedQueen



Category: Riverdale - Fandom
Genre: Archie Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03, Spoilers, Whump, h/c, hysterical about fight club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:25:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyRedQueen/pseuds/BloodyRedQueen
Summary: "Every single bone in his body hurt. The blood throbbing through his veins, pounding into his skull. They'd moved his cell to one without a window. He was timeless now. He hadn't seen the rest of the inmates in days. The guards would sometimes argue what date it was in front of his cell, just to see him try and piece it together. How long he'd been there, what the world 10 miles away was like. "Archie while he's stuck in prison, under the careful eye of the Warden, suffering.





	Beat Bloody

Every single bone in his body hurt. The blood throbbing through his veins, pounding into his skull. They'd moved his cell to one without a window. He was timeless now. He hadn't seen the rest of the inmates in days. The guards would sometimes argue what date it was in front of his cell, just to see him try and piece it together. How long he'd been there, what the world 10 miles away was like. 

He'd never felt so alone. It'd been weeks since he'd last seen Veronica, what felt like years since he'd seen Jug and Betty and the rest. He knew what they'd say to him, even now, but he didn't dare think of it in case it finally drove him over the edge. 

He couldn't even sleep. Maybe if he was exhausted enough one of these days, biology would work itself out and let him get some rest. But as it lay, every time he laid down in his bunk all he could see was the warden clapping a hand on his back. Saying something about him being his 'prize fighter'. All he could see was Mad Dog and his empty eyes and Joaquin spitting blood and more and more and more until he was doing push ups on the floor, escaping the thoughts. 

Archie's skin never quite stopped crawling, nowadays. 

Mad Dog had died in that ring. Archie remembered the size of his muscles. What could possibly have taken him out? How could anyone take Mad Dog down? When would Archie have to face it? He'd certainly die here. Now he wondered if anyone survived the warden's fighting ring, or if they all died. Was his life dependant on how long he could keep winning?

A guard was banging on his cell, it must be another fighting night for him. 

Archie tried to wipe some of the exhaustion from his face before standing up, but he must've taken too long. The guard brought down a baton on his back and suddenly he was wide awake again. 

His hands were cuffed behind his back. A hood pulled over his face. Hot breath that couldn't escape making him claustrophobic. He never could seem to quell the panic that came with the hood, no matter how hard he tried. It didn't seem to matter that it would happen oh so many nights of the week, Archie flinched under the hood, heard the guard chuckling somewhere nearby. 

Panic swelled, stars dancing in front of his eyes. He could feel the ground shifting under his feet but his brain wasn't registering movement, he was unbound from reality. He was timeless.

Next thing he knew he was on the ring. His hood yanked off his face, hands uncuffed. 

Cold air hit him, somehow more adrenaline flooding his veins than he thought possible. His hands shook as he raised them into fists. 

Two other inmates stood before him. He didn't even recognize them, but it had been a while since he saw anyone in gen pop. They didn't even look afraid, how could they not look afraid? He was certain they could see the terror in his eyes. That they could smell the fear rolling out of his pores in his sweat, in what would soon be his blood. 

Looking down at the mat, he could even see the stain where he'd fallen last fight. The blood smear. The guards were jeering unusually loud tonight, or maybe it was just his exhaustion amplifying every noise. How could he win against two other inmates? He barely survived against one last week. Had the warden grown sick of him? Was this punishment?

He blinked and the match was over. The two other inmates were on the floor. He couldn't remember the fight at all. Were they okay? He tried to focus, see if they were bleeding too hard, see if they were still alive. He couldn't get his eyes to stop rolling around his head. 

Was he drunk? One of Archie's knees was hitting the mat, fat gobs of blood that were trying to clot rolling down. He couldn't see straight. 

Archie tried to look up into the crowd, to see if he did good enough for the Warden. Did he take long enough to win? Did he make it believable? He couldn't find the warden's face in the crowd, just the throngs of bloodthirsty guards. 

He stood from the puddle of blood on the mat. Raised a fist in victory. 

Blacked out. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________

More fights. He shed more blood than he thought he ever could. 

By now he judged time by how long it took to recover from bruises. By how long it took for his head to stop spinning from the blood loss, how long it took to inhale past that one shattered rib that refused to heal. 

Could he ever heal? Even if Archie got out someday, if Veronica saved him, would he ever breathe deeply again? 

He had a feeling the scars he was gaining ran deeper than skin.   
_______________________________________________________________-_______________________

Holding Veronica, even for those few seconds, felt like a dream when he got back in his cell that night. 

He was so exhausted, and beat so bad. She was his lifeline. For the first time in much too long, he felt something dislodge deep in his heart. 

Once the tears started flowing, they didn't stop for hours. 

He missed Pops. He missed Jug, and going out with the whole gang. He missed watching movies with Veronica. 

He missed his Dad so badly he thought he'd crumble to pieces in his prison cot. 

But, when he came out of his stupor, he was still there. Flourescent lights still above him, he'd lost his blanket privileges last week when he'd ended a fight too early. Since then he'd been left to shiver in the isolation of his cell. 

_________________________________________________________________________________

Jughead had never seen Archie in such a bad way before.

When he fell from the ceiling, it was all Jug could do to stay calm. 

Archie was covered, head to toe, in dirt and muck. It looked like he hadn't eaten in days, his muscles coming out in definition from the moonlight. He was curling in on himself on the grimy floor of the bunker. 

Then Veronica and Betty were helping him up, guiding him to the cot. 

Even unconscious, Archie still had a hand clutched to the stab wound in his side. Betty held his hand, gently, and tried to move it. Archie mumbled something, his brow furrowed, and just held on tighter. 

The rest of the GnG players were standing a few feet back, mumbling amongst themselves. Jughead couldn't care less about the game. All that mattered, all he cared about was what the fuck happened to Archie.

**Author's Note:**

> First Riverdale fic! I haven't written any other Riverdale things, if you've read any of my other works please know I'm deeply sorry about not updating in 4 million years. 
> 
> I'm not actually that sorry. 
> 
> But anyway. The more comments the more fuel I have to continue writing.


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